Parshat Shelach: Our Shlichut Today

Leave a comment

The story of the meraglim is among the Torah’s most consequential, resulting in a generation denied entry to the Land of Israel. Told in this week’s parsha, Shelach, and retold in Devarim, the two accounts highlight its lessons then—and what they still mean for us today.

Shelach emphasizes the role of leaders. The heads of tribes—important men—are listed by name, setting a high expectation for their mission. One word in Shelach captures their task: latur, to scout the land. In Devarim, there is much less emphasis on the spies themselves. Also, their mission is described instead with the words lachfor and leragel—to search out and to spy. Why the difference in language? The Malbim teaches that latur, in Shelach, implies seeking out goodness. God had already guaranteed that the land was good. At this critical moment, the leaders were expected to affirm that vision. Instead, ten of the twelve returned with words that spread fear and demoralization.

In Devarim, the responsibility shifts to the people. In this retelling, Moshe does not blame the spies. In fact, they are portrayed as speaking positively about the land. It is the nation who misinterprets their words and lacks the confidence to rise up and conquer. And it is not only the generation of the midbar who bear responsibility. Moshe addresses their children, on the verge of entering the land, in the present tense: “Then all of YOU came to me and said, ‘Let us send men ahead to reconnoiter the land for US…’” This highlights that every generation of Jews has a role to play in correcting the sin of the meraglim.

Today, as we witness the miracles and heroism unfolding in this historic moment for Israel, Parshat Shelach reminds us that we each have a shlichut—a mission—to fulfill. Leaders and nation alike are called to see the good, to strengthen one another, and to move forward with courage and faith into the future. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Beha’alotcha: “Let Your Enemies Be Scattered”

Leave a comment

Parshat Beha’alotcha marks a dramatic turning point in Bnei Yisrael’s journey through the desert. The commentaries find deep significance in this moment — not only within the biblical narrative, but for all time.

At the height of the nation’s preparations to enter the Land of Israel, we read: “When the Ark would journey, Moshe said, ‘Arise, God, and let Your enemies be scattered, and let those who hate You flee before You.’ And when it rested, he would say, ‘Return, God, to the myriad thousands of Israel.’” Immediately after these verses comes the troubling episode of the mitonenim — bitter complainers who sow unrest among the people. Notably, these two verses are bracketed by two inverted letter “nuns,” and Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi famously taught that this section constitutes “a book unto itself.”

The Ha’amek Davar sees this as the beginning of the generation’s spiritual decline. Despite witnessing the greatest divine providence, the mitonenim spark a cycle of criticism and complaint that ultimately leads to the sin of the spies — and the decree that this generation would not enter the Land. These two verses, then, become a symbolic dividing line: before and after. Before — hope, preparation, and purpose. After — a tragic unraveling of faith and commitment.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a more hopeful reading. He suggests that these two verses are placed here because they capture the eternal rhythm of Jewish history: there will always be enemies and haters. But when we lead with the Aron Kodesh — when we are rooted in our identity, faith, and values — our adversaries are scattered, and we find our way back: back to God, to one another, and to our connection with the Land of Israel.

This, the parsha reminds us, remains our challenge today: to stay strong and faithful despite the haters from without and the voices of discord from within. Shabbat Shalom and Am Yisrael Chai -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Naso: A Jewish View on Virtue

Leave a comment

We live in an age that often encourages moral crusaders—individuals who publicly promote their “saintliness,” sometimes in ways that feel disingenuous. The discussion of the Nazir in Parshat Naso offers a thought-provoking perspective on this phenomenon and reveals a certain wariness toward overt displays of holiness.

The Nazir is a man or woman who takes a vow to abstain from all vineyard products, all forms of alcohol, and haircuts for a set period. The Torah describes the Nazir as “set apart for God” and “holy to God.” Yet it clearly does not promote this as a permanent lifestyle, as it provides specific guidelines for concluding the nezirut period, including the requirement to bring a korban.

The commentaries debate whether this form of asceticism is praiseworthy. The Ramban explains that the Nazir brings a korban because, after departing from a heightened state of holiness, atonement is required. The Rambam offers a more complex view. In Hilchot Nezirut, he states that if it is done properly the Nazir’s choice “delightful and praiseworthy,” yet in Hilchot Deot, he warns against extremes and argues one should not fully abstain from wine or meat. From this perspective, the Nazir brings a korban for deviating from the balanced path advocated by the Torah.

Rabbi Sacks explains this apparent contradiction by noting that saints—like the Nazir—seek personal perfection, which can be admirable but is often inward-focused. Judaism, he writes, “calls on us to live in the world, not to escape from it.” Holiness is found not in withdrawal, but in engagement.

In an age of virtue signaling and performative activism, the Nazir reminds us to be wary of those who champion moral causes more for image or trend than for genuine impact. True holiness, by contrast, lies in the quiet, consistent work of engaging with the world and its challenges with sincerity and moral integrity. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Bamidbar & Shavuot: Unity with Diversity

Leave a comment

Parshat Bamidbar and Shavuot both highlight a central question: How can the Jewish people preserve their individuality and diversity while maintaining their unity as a nation?

Bamidbar – also called by the rabbis “Chumash HaPekudim” (Numbers) – opens with God commanding Moshe to count military-age males in preparation for entering the land of Israel. Rashi comments: “Because of God’s love for Israel, He counts them often…” This contrasts with King David’s census in Divrei Hayamim, where God is displeased. What was the difference?

In Bamidbar, the count is commanded by God; David’s was his own initiative. Sforno notes that in Bamidbar, the people were counted “with names” – each person recognized for their unique contribution. This respectful, personalized counting stands in contrast to the danger of reducing people to mere numbers – a lesson tragically reinforced by Jewish history. Additionally, Ramban notes that there is a significant difference in language between Bamidbar and Divrei Hayamim. In Bamidbar, the word used for counting is from the root p.k.d, which can also mean redemption. In the David narrative it is s.p.r, which only means to count. Ramban explains that counting should be rare and purposeful – only for redemptive purposes.

This theme echoes on Shavuot. Rashi teaches that the people stood at Sinai “like one person with one heart” – a moment of deep unity. At the same time, Ramban points out that the Ten Commandments were given in the singular, emphasizing that each individual was personally addressed and carries their own responsibility. This Shavuot, may we each find strength in our unique voices and unity in our shared purpose as Am Yisrael. Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach -Karen Miller Jackson

Behar-Bechukotai: Stand Upright for Israel

Leave a comment

This week was a whirlwind: the inspiring bravery of Yuval Rephael, the painful rhetoric of some Israeli leaders, and a tragic antisemitic attack in Washington, DC. One word in Parshat Behar-Bechukotai offers timely insight into how we confront antisemitism and draw the line between legitimate critique and harmful condemnation of Israel.

Vayikra 26 outlines the blessings and curses that hinge on our faithfulness to God’s laws. The blessings include prosperity, military strength, security, peace in our land, and the feeling of God’s presence among us. The curses are lengthy and severe, ending in estrangement from God and our land. One image recurs throughout the blessings: the act of walking, and specifically, walking upright. “If you walk in My statutes,” God says, “I will walk among you.” The blessings conclude with a powerful reminder: God broke the yoke of our enslavement in Egypt and enabled us to “walk upright.” Why this emphasis?

The Hebrew word komemiyut – uprightness – comes from the root k.u.m, meaning to rise or stand. The Targum Onkelos translates it as freedom. Rashi explains it as standing tall, and Rashbam adds, “when the yoke is removed, one can hold their head high.” Sometimes, to hold our heads high, we must remember the long walk of our history, and the dangers of bowing our heads instead of standing tall and proud in who we are.
We pray daily for God to bring us komemiyut l’artzenu – upright to our land. In modern Hebrew, komemiyut connotes sovereignty, and it appears in the very first line of Israel’s Declaration of Independence. As we mark Yom Yerushalayim, may we each find the courage – wherever we are – to walk and speak uprightly in our Jewish and Zionist identity. May the memories of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Lynn Milgrim be for a blessing. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Emor: Our Journey from Egypt to Sinai

Leave a comment

As we mark Lag BaOmer, how fitting that this week’s parsha, Emor, contains the biblical source for Sefirat HaOmer. What is the significance of counting the days between Pesach and Shavuot? Many commentaries understand this period as a time for mindfulness and personal growth.

One approach highlights the value of elevating ourselves beyond mere physical and material concerns. The Omer period marks an agricultural transition in the Land of Israel — from the barley harvest to the wheat harvest. Sforno explains that counting each day is like a tefilla, a prayer of gratitude to God for the harvest, which we must not take for granted. This culminates in Shavuot, also known as Chag HaBikkurim, the festival of first fruits. In this way, counting the Omer becomes a daily reminder to be grateful for the Land of Israel and to never take its blessings for granted.

A second approach views the Omer as connecting two foundational events in Jewish history — the Exodus and the giving of the Torah. The Sefer HaChinuch explains that by counting, we mirror the journey of Am Yisrael, who moved from physical freedom to spiritual purpose. The Lubavitcher Rebbe adds that each person must count individually, underscoring the unique potential and personal agency of every Jew in the journey toward Torah. Similarly, Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli wrote that recalling our starting point as slaves gives us strength and deepens our appreciation for where we are going.

These two perspectives — one agricultural and the other historical — offer us meaningful orientation both in times of abundance and in times of challenge. This is a moment to be mindful of the privilege of living in Israel and to appreciate the miracle of its existence. It is also a time to look back on Jewish history, drawing strength from the perseverance and hope that continue to carry us forward toward better days. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: How to Be Holy

Leave a comment

“Be holy!” So begins Parshat Kedoshim (of this week’s double parsha): “Because I, God, am holy.” What does it mean to cultivate holiness—in our lives and in the world?

Rashi understands “Be holy” as a call to separate from forbidden sexual relationships, linking it to the previous parsha, Acharei Mot, which details these prohibitions. For Rashi, holiness means setting boundaries in relationships and abstaining from what is forbidden. The Ramban, however, offers a different interpretation. After listing specific prohibitions, the Torah calls on us to elevate even permissible behavior. One can technically keep the law and still act in a base or gluttonous way—a naval b’reshut haTorah. According to the Ramban, holiness requires moderation, intentionality, and moral refinement—not just avoiding sin, but rising above it.

While both commentators read “Be holy” in relation to what comes before, we can also understand it in light of what follows: a list of interpersonal mitzvot. The Midrash Sifra teaches that this section was read aloud to the entire nation during hakhel, because it contains the core values of the Torah. After laws centered on the Mishkan and the kohanim, the Torah introduces a transformative idea: kedusha is not limited to sacred spaces or select individuals—it is accessible to everyone. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks zt”l called this “the radical democratisation of holiness.” By showing compassion for the vulnerable, and by infusing our daily interactions with care and justice, we bring holiness into the world. How are we to be holy? “Because I, God, am holy.” We are called to reflect the divine image within us.

One final idea comes from Rav Aharon Lichtenstein zt”l, whose 10th yahrzeit was recently marked. He taught that “a Jew is also commanded to aspire.” In this light, “Be holy” becomes a call to transcend the letter of the law—to keep striving upward in moral and spiritual growth. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Tazria-Metzora: From Destructive to Redemptive

Leave a comment

As fires raged through the beautiful Jerusalem Hills this week—just as we moved from Yom HaZikaron to Yom Ha’atzmaut—many were asking: is this a Divine message, and if so, what are we meant to learn? 

Parshat Tazria-Metzora teaches about tzara’at, a condition that appeared not only on a person’s skin, but also on clothing and even homes. While some interpret skin tzara’at as a physical ailment, the afflictions on garments and houses have no medical basis. For this reason, Rambam explains that they are supernatural signs—stages of spiritual warning. He describes a progression: the lesions appear first on the home, then on clothing, and finally on the person, signaling increasing distance from God—often due to speaking negatively about others.

Yet tzara’at isn’t only a punishment. The Torah teaches that when the people enter the land of Israel they will have tzara’at on their houses.  Surprisingly, Rashi calls this a “besora,” good news, because hidden treasures left in the walls by the previous inhabitants would be uncovered through the affliction. What seemed destructive was actually redemptive. The kohen would then oversee a process of purification—restoring and renewing the home.

We may no longer live in a biblical world of manifest miracles or clear signs of reward and punishment. Yet tzara’at teaches us to listen more closely for God’s messages. As the chilling final words found on Shauli Greenglick’s phone after he fell in Gaza remind us: “God speaks to me much more than I speak to Him.” As we witness the fires on the outskirts of Jerusalem, we are called to reflect inward—on our land, our homes, and ourselves. It is a time to examine how we speak about others, and how, through that process, we might emerge renewed and draw closer to Hashem. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Shemini: Humility and Hope

Leave a comment

Reading Parshat Shemini after Yom Hashoah and before Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut feels especially resonant this year. Aaron emerges as a model of leadership rooted in humility and responsibility, and finds the courage to live with hope despite deep grief.

The parsha opens with God commanding Aaron and the people to bring offerings—including a calf (egel). Midrash Tanchuma explains this was an atonement for the sin of the Golden Calf, in which Aaron played a significant role. Yet Moshe must tell Aaron a second time to draw near and bring the offering. Rashi notes that Aaron was ashamed and afraid, and only with Moshe’s encouragement did he step forward to atone for himself and the people. It is precisely Aaron’s humility, especially after his earlier failing, that enables him to lead the people toward forgiveness.

Aaron provides another lesson in leadership when, tragically, on the eighth day of the inauguration of the Mishkan, his sons Nadav and Avihu offer a “foreign fire” and are instantly killed by God. Their sin is not entirely clear. The Sages suggest various interpretations of what they did wrong: sacrificing a korban which was not commanded, teaching Torah in front of their teacher Moshe, entering the sanctuary naked, performing their duties while drunk, refusing to marry or have children. In the midrash, Nadav and Avihu are portrayed as irresponsible and full of hubris. In contrast, Aaron responds to their death with silent grief, yet finds the strength to carry on. As Moshe instructs him to forgo the usual mourning rituals, Aaron continues his service as Kohen Gadol.

Aaron, like many survivors and the heroes we have witnessed this year, is a model for leaders and all of Am Yisrael—to have humility before God and others, and, despite the grief, to find the strength to continue and to live. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Tzav and Pesach

Leave a comment

This week, Parshat Tzav coincides with Pesach—each centered on a sacrifice no longer offered, yet rich with enduring lessons about Jewish identity and observance.

The word “tzav” introduces the command to Aaron regarding the olah, the burnt offering. This sacrifice remained burning through the night, and each morning the priests began by clearing the ashes before starting anew. Rashi explains that tzav conveys zerizut—urgency and enthusiasm—applying both now and l’dorot for all generations. Chizkuni adds that such motivation was needed for a task done daily, which could easily become monotonous. How does this speak directly to our own lives today (l’dorot)? Just as the kohanim were called to maintain passion in their daily service, we are challenged to keep our Torah study and prayer fresh and meaningful despite their routine nature.

These same values—zerizut and l’dorot—are central to Pesach. As Bnei Yisrael prepared to leave Egypt, they were commanded to eat the korban Pesach b’hipazon: “with your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it in haste.” Though we no longer bring this offering, we recall it at the seder. We retell how the people marked their doorposts with its blood. There is a debate about whether the blood was placed inside, where only they could see it—Rashi explains this was to strengthen their observance and emunah—or outside, as Rambam suggests, a public rejection of Egyptian idolatry and immoral culture. Today, we need both: inward faith and outward expressions of Jewish identity.

The messages of these ancient offerings—bringing passion to our observance and strengthening our identity—are as relevant today as ever. Shabbat Shalom and Chag Kasher ve’Sameach – Karen Miller Jackson